


i'm the powder you're the fuse (just add some friction)

by wildlingoftarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Crime Fighting, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hotel Sex, Smut, Sparring, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 20:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildlingoftarth/pseuds/wildlingoftarth
Summary: Rookie police officer Brienne Tarth gets much more than she bargained for when she's partnered up with disgraced former detective Jaime Lannister.





	i'm the powder you're the fuse (just add some friction)

**Author's Note:**

> Yet Another Cop AU…sorry not sorry!  
Disclaimer: I know nothing about Cop Stuff, so a lot of this is probably wrong, but you get it.  
Title is from the song “My Strange Addiction” by Billie Eilish

“I thought you said my new partner was a _woman_?”

Rookie officer Brienne Tarth, standing in front of Police Lieutenant Mormont’s desk with her new partner beside her, stares ahead with a blank expression as Jaime Lannister protests and makes more derogatory comments about her lack of experience, her looks, her size, her sexuality (or lack thereof).

She huffs and rolls her eyes, letting the japes slide off her back. She’s taller and broader than most men, with zero womanly curves to speak of and a face that looks like it was cobbled together from a variety of incongruous sources. Her chin-length hair is more yellow than blonde and has the shine and softness of old hay. She does have a few redeeming features, namely her shapely mile-long legs and bright blue eyes, but people don’t usually look long enough to see them.

These kinds of comments are nothing she hasn’t heard before, and coming from someone with shit for honor like Lannister, it affects her even less. He may be the most physically attractive man she’s ever laid eyes on, but his personality tempers any attraction she may have felt at his piercing green eyes and jawline sharp enough to slice a hand right off.

She knows he used to be a detective, but was demoted after he shot and killed his former partner, Aerys Targaryen, in a drug raid gone bad six years ago. It was ruled accidental and he was allowed to remain on the force, but the other officers still think his father being the richest and most well-connected man in King’s Landing had more to do with it than the actual circumstances of the shooting. It doesn’t help that he refuses to speak publicly about what happened, fueling the rumors and hearsay. The other officers ignore him to his face and call him terrible names behind his back, but that has apparently done nothing to temper Jaime’s cockiness or self-importance.

Mormont barks at him to shut up and accept the fact that she is his new partner, like it or not, and if he could just manage to keep a partner for more than three months, they wouldn’t have to go through this again. Brienne’s cheeks redden as the Lieutenant rattles off her accomplishments: graduated first in her class at the King’s Landing Police Academy, best score on the physical fitness exam, best marksman in her class. “You keep your mouth shut long enough and you might learn something from her,” Mormont grumbles before dismissing them both.

They walk to their assigned car for patrol, her first official day on the force. Brienne has wanted to be a police officer since she was five, and if she is going to make detective and eventually be Chief someday, she cannot let Jaime Lannister win. She stays quiet as he asks her prying questions, calls her a litany of nicknames until he settles on _wench_, tries to embarrass her with lewd jokes, talks constantly about absolutely nothing until she wants to throttle him, but she doesn’t. She knows he is just trying to get a rise out of her, and she will not give him the satisfaction.

Brienne's second week on the force, they are called to a routine domestic disturbance. This house is well-known to the vets on the force, populated by an old drunk, his long-suffering wife, and an assortment of equally drunk adult kids and sleazy hangers-on. They pull up and see two clutches of people in the yard, one holding back a shirtless man with a missing front tooth, the other crowded around another man with blood dripping down his nose and onto his shirt.

They get out of the car and Brienne heads toward one group of people, Jaime to the other. Brienne begins to ask the man with the bloody nose for his version of events when she hears a commotion from behind her. She turns to see Jaime and the shirtless man scuffling, the man reaching for the gun in Jaime’s holster. Brienne runs to them and lands a flying elbow to the man’s cheekbone with a sharp crack, putting him down immediately.

Two more men rush at them, apparently drunk and/or high enough to attempt to avenge their now passed-out friend. Jaime puts one down with a fist to the temple while Brienne kicks the other in the ribs, then knees him in the nose. They lay groaning and bloodied in a pile when Brienne opens her arms and shouts, “Anyone else?!” to the cowering crowd.

“Everyone inside!” Jaime yells in his most commanding voice, sending the crowd scuttling off into the house. They handcuff the three perpetrators and throw them in the back of the car to drive them to the station. Brienne’s blood is singing, color high in her cheeks. Jaime looks over at her with something bordering on admiration and asks, “Where did you learn to fight like that? That was decidedly more advanced than the training they give you in the Academy.”

“I’ve been doing martial arts, kickboxing and MMA since I was a kid. I got bullied a lot, so my dad put me in all those classes so I could learn how to defend myself.”

“Where do you train?” he asks nonchalantly.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, but decides to answer his question anyway. “Goodwin Martial Arts downtown.”

“Oh. And when are you usually there?”

Now she is suspicious. “Every day except Thursday and Sunday. Why?”

He shrugs. “Just curious.”

* * *

The next day is Saturday, and he’s there when she shows up for her morning training session. She freezes when she sees him just inside the door, then exhales deeply and brushes past him. “Oh, come on then,” she calls behind her, and he follows with the enthusiasm of a puppy chasing its master.

Thus begins their new routine: days on patrol filled with Jaime’s constant jabbering and teasing (although the teasing takes on a less hostile tone after time), evenings and Saturday mornings training together at the gym. Brienne tries to ignore how Jaime’s eyes rake over her form in her sports bra and shorts, and tries even harder not to notice his extremely defined muscles in the tight t-shirts he likes to train in.

They begin every session with strength and conditioning followed by drills and ending with sparring. She has a leg up on Jaime in technique, height and reach, but he is surprisingly quick and strong, and a fast learner, making for a match more equal than any of the other men she’s trained with here.

One Thursday night, he asks her to show him some submission holds. They’ve concentrated on punches, kicks, knees and elbows thus far, purposely – the idea of being pressed that closely to Jaime Lannister, skin on skin, sends a tremble of apprehension (or is it something else?) through her. She forces it down and puts on a professional air as she demonstrates the top five holds.

First, she shows him a rear naked choke hold, which ends with them both sitting, her behind him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck. She notices him breathing raggedly and apologizes, loosening her grip on his neck. The next four all begin with her straddling him and end with his head between her legs in some fashion. She hopes he can’t feel her heart pounding wildly or hear the tremble in her voice as she explains the holds.

Halfway through the guillotine, in which he is on top of her with her legs around him and his head trapped under her arm, she feels something stiff against her thigh and gasps. He freezes for a moment, then taps out frantically. She loosens her grip and he scrambles to his feet and runs to the locker room without even a glance back, leaving her sitting on the mat, bewildered. She thinks it must have been a long time since he got laid; that’s the only way she could have that effect on him. _Right?_

They don’t speak of it again, but something changes, the air between them stretching taut. Despite this, they continue to patrol together and train together (strictly kickboxing), and Brienne finds that she actually starts to enjoy his company. She begins answering his constant questions (except those of a sexual nature) and even volunteers some information about herself. She knows practically everything about him thanks to his incessant rambling, from his utterly fucked-up family life to his favorite food (Danish pastries), so she thinks it’s only fair that he knows something about her, too.

She tells him about her childhood on Tarth, how her mother, two sisters and brother died when she was small, her father’s grudging acceptance of her going to the Academy, how the men in her class placed bets on who could fuck her first. Hearing this, he stares straight forward, his jaw clenched tight and hands balled into fists. He swallows thickly and asks who won; she scoffs and tells him no one, affronted that he thought she’d actually fall for something like that. He then asks who the ringleader was. She tells him it was Ed Ambrose, at which Jaime mutters something like “that son of a bitch” under his breath.

The next week at the station, she sees Ambrose. Half of his face is covered in an angry purple bruise; his lip is split and it looks like his nose is broken. She finds Jaime at once, noticing the red scrapes along his knuckles, and asks him to explain himself. “He deserved it,” is all he says, and Brienne, although furious, feels a strange tightening in her chest at the thought of him avenging her.

Exactly three months and one day into their partnership, she opens the door to their car and sees a box of her favorite strawberry cupcakes on her seat. She slides in and gives him a questioning look; he shrugs and says, “You’re the first partner I’ve been able to keep for longer than three months since Aerys. Thought it needed commemorating.” She smiles at him, and his face softens into a look she’s never seen for just a moment before tightening back into its usual half-smirk.

He has never mentioned Aerys before, and Brienne hasn’t asked; she thought if he wanted to tell her, he’d bring it up on his own. He opens his mouth to say something else, then closes it again, turning toward the steering wheel and pulling out of the parking lot.

Their day is routine – domestic calls, loiterers, fights. An hour before their shift is over, the call comes in that a convenience store has just been held up and the suspect is on foot heading south on Kings Road, two blocks from their current location. They look at each other, excitement sparkling in their eyes, then do a U-turn and head to the area.

As Jaime drives, Brienne scans her surroundings, watching for anything suspicious. She catches movement out of the corner of her eye – someone is running through the yards to their right. “There!” she shouts, and Jaime slams on the brakes, both of them running out of the car and after the perpetrator. The man is small and quick, but their longer strides even out the distance in no time. He tries to vault over a fence, but Jaime grabs his leg and wrenches him down. Brienne jumps on top of him before she realizes he’s reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out a knife.

He slashes wildly, catching her across the cheek. Jaime puts himself between her and the perp and reaches for the knife. The man plunges it right into Jaime’s hand before she wrestles it out of his grasp and knocks him out. Blood seeps from Jaime’s wound, but he doesn’t even look at it, just eyes the slash on her cheek worriedly and asks her if _she_ is okay.

“I’m fine, but your hand…”

He studies it for the first time, turning it over and seeing that the knife drove straight through. He tries to move his fingers and gasps in pain, gripping his wrist and wincing. “It’s a clean cut. I’ll be fine. We need to get you to the hospital for some stitches.”

“Jaime. You just had a knife through your hand. Stop worrying about me.” Brienne removes Jaime’s button-up shirt and wraps it around his hand, silently enduring the jokes about her trying to get him naked. They call for backup to take the perp away, then flip their lights on and drive to the emergency room.

As she suspected, Brienne only needs a few stitches, while Jaime has to go in for surgery to repair the severed tendons in his hand. He was right, it was a clean cut, and it was lucky – otherwise the surgery and recovery would be much more complicated. As it is, it only takes a few hours, and she is ushered to his room as soon as he is out. “He asked for you,” the nurse explains as she leads her back, and something in Brienne’s chest flutters unexpectedly.

Jaime turns his head toward her as soon as she walks in the room, his eyes half-open and a loopy smile on his face. His hand is heavily bandaged and splinted to his chest. “Wench,” he mutters. “You stayed.”

She sits in the chair next to his bedside. “Of course I stayed. We’re partners.”

He scoffs quietly. “Hm. Partners. Partners never brought me anything but trouble before you.”

Brienne stays quiet, sensing that he wants to say something more.

He fixes her with as intense of a stare as his droopy eyelids will allow. “Do you want to know why I did it?”

“Why you did what?”

“You know. Why I killed him.”

“It was an accident…”

“No. It wasn’t an accident. I killed him on purpose. And I would do it again.”

Brienne is flabbergasted. So it was true. She hesitates for a moment, debating the ethicality of drawing more information out of him while he is coming down off anesthesia, but he brought it up, so she continues.

“Why?” she asks, her voice coming out smaller than she intended.

“Do you remember that street drug, Wildfire?” She nods, recalling the hysterical news reports of a dangerous new drug that was hooking and killing people in unprecedented numbers.

“I found out that Aerys was running the biggest Wildfire ring in the city. Tons of cops were involved. They were selling to _kids_, Brienne. Ruining families and lives.” Jaime seems totally lucid now, but he keeps talking.

“He found out that I knew and took me to that abandoned house to give me an ultimatum: either become part of it, or die. Obviously, I wanted nothing to do with it, so he had two of his henchmen attack me. I managed to wrestle one of their guns away and shoot them both, and then I pointed the gun at Aerys. I told him he could either turn himself in or I’d end it right then. He lunged at me…so I shot him. I had to.”

His voice wavers, and Brienne instinctively grabs Jaime’s good hand with both of hers. It is warm and solid, and her skin tingles where it touches his.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I did. I told Chief Baratheon and my father. They decided it would be a quote-unquote ‘PR nightmare’ if people knew the truth, so they pulled whatever strings they needed to and had it ruled an accident. I wanted to leave the force, but my father said it would look too suspicious. Plus, killing him did what it needed to – once the head was cut off, the body withered, and Wildfire all but disappeared from the streets.”

Suddenly, Jaime’s sullen attitude and inability to keep a partner makes more sense. He’d been through a traumatic experience and was forced to relive it for years. He’d destroyed a lucrative income source for a lot of cops, who ranged from dismissive to openly hostile toward him. She feels a strange sense of pride in him at that moment, though she figures it’s his stubbornness more than anything else that keeps him from quitting.

She looks down at their joined hands and then back up into his green, green eyes. “Why are you telling me?”

His grip on her hand tightens slightly, and he runs his thumb across the back of it. “I trust you.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a beat too long, and Brienne snatches her hands back as if she’s touched a hot stove when the nurse comes in. She asks him some questions about how he’s feeling and tells him he’ll need to stay for the night so the doctor can come see him first thing tomorrow morning.

Brienne stands up and drags her palms over her thighs as if she is trying to rid herself of the feeling of his skin on hers. “I should let you get some rest,” she mumbles and turns to leave the room.

“Wench,” he blurts, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Can you stay just a little while longer? It’s boring in here, and I’m afraid to tease the nurses like I tease you lest they slip something sketchy in my IV bag. 

She raises one eyebrow, relieved that the tension from a moment ago has dissolved. “Who’s to say I couldn’t bribe one of them to do it and rid myself of you once and for all?”

He smirks. “You wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

She shakes her head and turns on the TV. “Fine, but we’re watching Love Island.”

“UGH! I cannot believe you like that insipid show.”

“Most of us can’t subsist on pretentious history documentaries alone. There’s nothing wrong with a little mindless entertainment every now and then.”

They banter easily for another hour before both their eyelids begin drooping. Brienne stands up and places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s been a long day. We should both get some rest. Let me know what the doctor says tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ser,” he says, managing to only sound half-annoyed.

“Good night, Jaime.”

“Good night, Brienne." 

_He called me Brienne._

* * *

The next morning, he texts her from the hospital.

_J: Doc said 6-8 weeks of physical therapy before I can come back to work._

_B: You’re coming back? Thought you might use this as your means of escape._

_J: I don’t want to escape anymore._

_…_

_J: You remind me of why I wanted to be a cop in the first place._

Brienne is temporarily assigned a new partner while Jaime recovers, a silent hulk of a man with a half-scarred face named Sandor Clegane. At one time, Brienne would have welcomed the quiet, but after months of Jaime’s jabbering, it just makes her uncomfortable. She even finds herself trying to engage him in conversation, which is decidedly unlike her. She makes a mental note to apologize to Jaime for her muteness in the early days of their partnership.

Fortunately for her, Jaime still has lots to say and apparently no one else to say it to, so he replaces talking with texting. He texts her a steady stream of observations, questions, jokes, even memes, prompting her to mockingly congratulate him on being surprisingly tech-savvy for an old man.

She looks down at her phone and smiles regularly throughout the day, causing Clegane to mutter “You two should just fuck already” under his breath. She feigns shock and blushes to the tips of her ears, but that night, she touches herself and thinks of Jaime.

Brienne calls him to make sure he’s keeping up on his physical therapy exercises, and he tells her the doctor said he’ll probably be able to regain 90 percent mobility, but she still recommended he learn to shoot left-handed. She asks when he plans on going to the range to practice, and cuts her training session short to be there. She’d been bored without him there anyway. She continues showing up, and he continues practicing until he is just as good with his left as he was with his right.

Six weeks after his injury, due to his diligent physical therapy and shooting practice, he is cleared to go back on patrol. He actually looks touched when he sees the box of Danish pastries she bought to celebrate the occasion. “Wench, you remembered,” he smiles and clutches his hand to his heart. She has to remind him to put his holster on the opposite side, but other than that, they settle easily back into their routine. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed having him at her side until he was there again.

They receive a commendation for collaring a kidnapper and returning the two missing girls to their mother. He insists on pinning the red and blue enamel bar on her uniform himself, and whispers, “You deserve this,” as if he knows she is already downplaying the accomplishment in her head. She isn’t sure if it’s his words or his fingers brushing against her shirt right above her heart, but she shivers.

Shortly after Jaime returns to the force, they are called into Mormont’s office and told they will be representing KLPD at the Westeros Police Conference later on in the month. Jaime groans and complains about sitting through boring educational sessions and inane chit-chat with other cops, but Brienne is excited about her first conference. She studies the schedule and plans which sessions she’ll attend, and even buys a new dress for the final night cocktail party.

The conference is Friday morning through Saturday evening in Highgarden, about three hours southwest of King’s Landing. Jaime offers to drive, and Brienne realizes she’s never been in a car other than their patrol car with him. They also never see each other in clothing other than their uniforms or workout clothes, so this weekend will be one of firsts for them.

He pulls up outside her apartment Friday morning in an utterly ostentatious crimson sports car that looks very fast and very dangerous. She rolls her eyes. “Why couldn’t we have taken your normal car?” His “normal car” was still more expensive than anything she could ever dream of owning, but at least it was a safe, sensible midsize SUV and not this death trap.

“Wench, why would we take that when we can take _this_?”

“Will I even fit in there? Even though we’re the same height, my legs are decidedly longer.”

He looks her up and down and says in a low voice, “I’ve noticed.”

She ignores the burning in her cheeks and folds herself into the car with a huff. He hands her his phone and lets her pick the music, only complaining when she plays a particularly screechy Dothraki metal band. The three-hour drive flies by with nary a rollover or speeding ticket, and besides Brienne’s slightly cramping legs, they pull up to the Highgarden Hotel and Convention Center none the worse for wear.

They check in to their hotel rooms, right across the hall from each other, and change for the first sessions. Brienne picks out a white silk blouse with a tie at the neck, a black high-waisted pencil skirt, and black low heels, putting in a little more effort than normal to look professional but not stuffy.

She exits her room at the same time as Jaime, in a sky-blue button-up shirt and gray trousers. He looks like something out of a godsdamn menswear catalog. They shut their doors behind them and stare at each other for a beat, Jaime opening his mouth, then closing it again, before breaking the silence. “Shall we?” He gestures down the hall, and she chides herself for being disappointed that he didn’t compliment her. She has never needed or cared about compliments before, and she isn’t going to start now.

They walk down to the convention center and into the throng of fellow officers, separating for most of the day to go to different sessions. Brienne makes fast friends with another woman in her first session, a willowy brunette almost as tall as her named Dacey Mormont, who happens to be the great-niece of Lieutenant Mormont. Dacey has two other sisters who are also police officers, and her mother just retired after nearly 40 years on the force.

She and Brienne commiserate about the life of a female police officer and share stories about their most exciting collars. Brienne tells the story of how she got the scar on her cheek and realizes she’s talking about Jaime A LOT, and when she looks down at her phone and smiles at a text from him, Dacey states, “So you’re an item, then.” It’s not a question.

Brienne gasps _no!_ a little too emphatically. “Whatever you say,” Dacey replies with a raised eyebrow and knowing smirk.

Brienne feels in her element here, learning about how to be a better police officer and surrounded by like-minded people who for some reason gravitate toward her instead of being scared off. Jaime finds her between every session talking animatedly with a different person or group of people, standing patiently at her shoulder until she introduces him. She notices him watching her with a peculiar look on his face, as if he’s seeing something he’s never seen before.

On Saturday evening, after their final sessions, they return to their rooms to get ready for the cocktail party. Brienne entrusted her most fashionable friend, Renly, with helping her pick out a new dress for the occasion, and although it’s much more revealing than she would have chosen, she has to admit it does play up her best features. The sleeveless silk wrap dress is cornflower blue, with a deep V-neck that plunges to just below her breastbone and a hem that skims the middle of her thighs. She slips it on and ties the belt at the waist into a bow, for once glad about her lack of breasts so she doesn’t need to bother with a bra.

She attempts to curl her hair, which succeeds in making it look somewhat less flat. Renly insisted she has a duty as a pale blonde to wear red lipstick, so she swipes some onto her full lips. She pulls on her heeled sandals and adjusts her dress one more time, inspecting her reflection appraisingly in the mirror. She is still not a beauty, and will never be, but she feels confident, and it shows in the straight set of her shoulders and slight smile playing at the corners of her lips.

She hears a knock on the door and swings it open – Jaime is standing in front of her in a perfectly-fitted black suit and crisp white shirt open at the neck. It sets off the bronze of his skin and gold of his hair, and if he notices the tiny gasp that escapes her, he doesn’t show it. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of her, running his gaze slowly up and down her figure, and she begins to feel self-conscious. Desperate to break the tension, she opens her arms and blurts, “Have you never seen a dress before?” a little more harshly than she intended.

Jaime’s face pinches inward. “I was going to say you look really nice, but now…”

She sighs heavily. “Sorry. I’m not used to dressing up. But thank you. You do too.”

He straightens and relaxes his face. “You should do it more often. And thank you.” He offers his arm, and she stares at it dumbly for a moment before wrapping her long fingers around the inside of his biceps. He squeezes her hand tightly to his side and presses his shoulder against hers as they walk. They haven’t been this close, physically, since the submission holds incident at the gym, and it feels strange and familiar at the same time.

She smells his scent, feels the heat of his skin under her hand and against her arm, and her heart patters traitorously. They are colleagues, that’s it, no matter what she imagines she sees in his eyes when he looks at her sometimes, no matter how many secrets they’ve entrusted to each other. She suddenly needs to put as much space in between them as possible, so she lets his arm go as she steps into the elevator.

“At least they have the courtesy to serve wine at this thing,” he grumbles.

She cocks her head at him. “Jaime Lannister, it almost sounds as if you’re looking forward to this party.”

“Only if you stay by my side the entire time, wench,” he grins at her, showing every one of his perfect white teeth, stealing her breath for the second time tonight.

Dacey Mormont makes a beeline for them as soon as they walk into the ballroom. “Brienne! You look amazing!” She is wearing sky-high heels that make her even taller than Brienne, and is clearly already a few glasses of wine deep. The air is temporarily squeezed out of Brienne’s lungs when Dacey envelops her into a crushing hug, but she doesn’t mind – women have mostly either pitied or feared her throughout her life, so this type of acceptance makes her feel strangely warm inside.

When Jaime goes to the bar to get them drinks, Dacey watches his back for a moment before turning to Brienne. “He looks pretty good tonight,” she says with a conspiratorial smirk. Brienne rolls her eyes, but can’t help the fierce blush that rises from her neck to her forehead. “Don’t tell him that. His head already barely fits through doors.” They laugh as Jaime approaches with their wine, her fingers brushing his as she takes the glass from him.

Throughout the night, a steady stream of men approaches Dacey and Brienne. Dacey effortlessly flirts with all of them, while Brienne mostly smiles and nods and tries to engage in conversation with Jaime, who is being uncharacteristically quiet.

Jaime has queued up in the long line to the bar when she hears someone call her name from behind her. “Brienne! I knew that had to be you!” Hyle Hunt is rushing toward her, waving. Hyle had lived across the hall from her in college, and had actually treated her kindly, which was more than she could say about the majority of boys she encountered there. When she grew tired of being “The Virgin,” she called on him to help her shed the mantle. It had been decent enough, and they’d drunkenly hooked up on and off throughout the next few years.

Hyle is not exactly attractive, but not unattractive – he is just _there_. His hair is that not-quite-brown, not-quite-blonde shade that could be described as “no color” and cut in the standard $8 barber shop style. He is almost a full head shorter than Brienne, with friendly brown eyes set in a nondescript face.

She can’t hide her surprise at seeing him there, but it is nice to see a familiar face, so she accepts his proffered hug. “Hyle! What are you doing here? I thought you studied IT?”

“I did! I’m here with a vendor. ‘Night’s Watch Body Cameras: We’ll cover your back, and your front!’” They laugh together before Hyle begins asking her about the Academy, how the job is going, and other small-talk topics. The din of the room has grown louder, making it harder to hear, so she finds herself putting her hand on his shoulder and leaning in toward him. He places his hand at the small of her back, which startles her at first but doesn’t make her uncomfortable, so she allows it.

While they chat, she wonders in the back of her mind what she’d do if he followed her up to her room. It _has_ been a while (a long while if she’s being honest), and the wine has loosened her up considerably, but a small, foolish voice in her head repeats, _he’s not Jaime_.

As if summoned by her thoughts of him, Jaime returns with their wine glasses and shoves his body fully in between Hyle and Brienne. She stares at him, slightly baffled at his behavior, before taking her glass and turning back to Hyle. “Hyle, this is my partner, Jaime Lannister. Jaime, this is Hyle Hunt, an old friend from college.”

Hyle holds out his hand for Jaime to shake, but he just looks at it, then derisively up at Hyle’s face, before taking Brienne’s elbow and pulling her away from him and out of the ballroom.

“That was rude,” she reprimands, yanking her arm out of his grasp.

“I saw how he was pawing at you. I was trying to help.”

“Did you see me pushing him away? You of all people should know I can take care of myself.”

“So you _wanted_ his grubby little hands all over you?”

“JAIME,” she says through clenched teeth, her voice rising a little higher than she meant it to. She straightens and looks down her nose at him. “What I do with my own body is none of your concern. Are you jealous or something?” The last statement is meant to be facetious, but when he doesn’t answer right away, she shakes her head. “That’s not fair. You don’t want me but no one else is allowed to want me?”

He looks down, then back up at her. His voice lowers to a barely audible level. “Who said that?”

Her face betrays her confusion. “Who said what?”

He takes a half-step toward her. “That I don’t want you.”

Brienne’s eyes widen for a millisecond before narrowing, her mouth pressing into a hard line. “I thought we were past the point of you mocking me.” He starts to say something, but she holds up a hand to stop him. “I thought you’d changed. I guess I was wrong. Excuse me.” She pushes past him, taking long strides toward the elevator and willing the tears brimming in her eyes to stay unshed.

* * *

Jaime watches helplessly as Brienne disappears toward the elevator.

He isn’t sure when he started loving her, but he knows when he first _wanted_ her – the first time he saw her fight. She looked like a godsdamn Amazon warrior princess, and he’d gotten so hard so quick that he had to jerk off in the bathroom of the station just to relieve the pain. He knew inviting himself to her training sessions was going to be an exercise in torture, but he couldn’t help it – he needed to be nearer to her, to be on the receiving end of the exquisite strength flowing from her body. The fact that she’d allowed him to keep showing up even after all the terrible things he’d said to her in the beginning of their partnership is a testament to how fucking _good_ she is inside.

Even more inexplicably, she made _him_ want to be good, to be vulnerable after so many years of purposefully pushing everyone away to hide his hurt. Just like that, she’d woven herself so seamlessly into the fabric of his life that he didn’t feel _whole_ without her.

And now, he’s fucked everything up by allowing his jealousy of that little prick Hyle Hunt to bubble over. He has been perfectly, selfishly content with keeping her all to himself, keeping her his secret, knowing no one else on the force would try to get close to her because of his reputation. And then they came here, and she was like a magnetic force drawing people to her.

_They saw in a few minutes what it took you months to see. Idiot._

Earlier in the evening, when he knocked on her door and saw her in that short dress that made her legs look a mile long and her blue eyes look even bluer, he tried to think of a word to describe her but came up blank. Not _beautiful_, or _stunning_, or even _mesmerizing_ would do.

Later, while standing in line for the bar and watching her talk and laugh with the people crowded around her, he thought of it. _Captivating_. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and found himself at a loss for words around her, which is a rarity for him. Then he saw her touch Hyle’s shoulder and lean closer to him, saw Hyle put his hand on the small of her back, and his vision blurred and pulse pounded in his ears. _She never touches you like that. She barely touches you at all._

All rational thought had flown out of his head as he thought about her with another man, even a man as inferior as Hyle. He had to do something, anything. He grabbed the two wine glasses proffered by the bartender and strode quickly over to Brienne, positioning himself directly between her and Hyle. He doesn’t know what he thought would happen after that, but it surely wasn’t watching her storm away from him, as he’s doing now.

_She didn’t believe you._ He wants to travel back in time and punch his past self in the face for being such an ass to her, for deploying his normal defense mechanism of insults and snark to the person who deserved it least of all. And now, because of that, when he tried to tell her how he really felt, she didn’t believe him. That hurt worse than any possible rejection.

A movement out of the corner of his eye startles him back to the present. Hyle Fucking Hunt is following Brienne. To her room, presumably. He cannot let that happen. _Jaime_ is the one who needs to go to her room, if only to apologize for being such a dick, and then telling, or better yet _showing_, her that he was not joking about wanting her. He catches up to Hyle in three strides and spins him around with a hand on his shoulder.

Hyle’s eyes widen at the look on Jaime’s face, and Jaime uses his height and width to his advantage, standing as straight as possible and puffing out his chest. “Kyle, isn’t it? Where are you headed?”

Hyle gives him an inoffensive smile and replies, “Hyle. I was just going to catch up with Brienne,” and tries to move around Jaime.

Jaime steps in the same direction, blocking him. “She doesn’t want to be bothered. Have a good night.”

They stand there at an impasse for a moment before Hyle raises his hands in surrender and backs away. “Alright, man. I didn’t know it was like that.”

Jaime watches him walk back into the ballroom before turning and heading to his first stop, the hotel bar. He makes his purchase and steps into the elevator, taking a deep breath before pushing the button to their floor. _Here goes nothing_.

* * *

Brienne leans her back against the wall of the elevator and sucks in a few deep lungfuls of air, willing her hands to stop shaking and her pulse to return to a normal rhythm. Her mind races with revelations from tonight – Jaime’s jealousy and possessiveness at seeing her with Hyle had come out of seemingly nowhere. Sure, they’d gotten close over the course of their partnership, and sometimes she sees a certain heat in his gaze when he looks at her, but they’re _friends_. They respect each other. Men who look like Jaime don’t want women who look like Brienne, accidental boners notwithstanding.

By the time she gets back to her room, Brienne chalks Jaime’s behavior up to the fact that he’s rarely even seen her interact with another person, let alone one of the opposite sex, and it threw him off. She slips her sandals off, turns the thermostat up a few degrees, and is removing the red lipstick from her lips when she hears a soft knock at the door.

Her heart skips – there are only two people who could be looking for her right now, and one of them doesn’t know her room number. She gathers herself and swings the door open to find Jaime leaning against the doorjamb, a bottle of wine and two paper cups in his hand. A strand of hair is falling over his forehead, and she represses the urge to reach out and brush it back. His green and gold eyes glint in a way they never have before. _Gods, he is so beautiful_, she thinks before her logical brain catches up and chides her for acting like a simpering little girl.

She takes a breath, straightens, and says in her steadiest voice, “Jaime.”

“Wench.” He winces and corrects himself. “Brienne. I came to apologize, and I brought a peace offering.” He holds up the wine, and she laughs despite herself at the paper cups, clearly taken from next to the coffee pot in his room. She steps back and opens the door for him, and notices his shoulders relax slightly before he brushes past her into the room. _Her room_.

He places the cups on the desk and pours the wine, something thick and dark red. He passes one to her and they touch them together before drinking, eyes locked over the top of their cups. She watches his throat as he swallows, watches him watch _her_ throat as she swallows, and the silence in the room becomes deafening. She has never been nervous around Jaime before, but something is different tonight. The air in the room feels charged, like before a lightning storm. 

Brienne feels like she might vibrate out of her skin before he, blessedly, breaks the silence. “You keep it warm enough in here,” he grumbles as he shrugs out of his suit jacket and lays it across the chair. The casual intimacy of him removing the top layer of his clothing in her room makes her heart race. The top two buttons of his white shirt are undone, and she can’t seem to tear her eyes from the hollow at his throat, the smattering of graying-gold chest hair peeking out below.

He unbuttons his right sleeve and rolls it up to the elbow, exposing forearms corded with muscle. He struggles slightly with the left one, his right hand having lost some dexterity from the knife attack. “Here,” she says, gathering up every ounce of her courage and reaching for his wrist. She frees the button from the hole and begins rolling the sleeve up, her fingertips skimming across his skin, perhaps lingering for a moment longer than is necessary at his biceps. She drops his arm and takes half a step back to maintain the space between them.

“I run cold,” she explains, although the current warmth in her cheeks and lower belly belies that fact.

“I can attest to that. You were positively _frigid_ when we were first partnered,” he says, leaning against the desk with a half-smirk.

Her mouth drops open and an incredulous sound escapes. “Oh, fuck off! Did you forget how horrible you were to me in the beginning? I believe the first words I ever heard you say were, ‘I thought you said my new partner was a woman?’”

Jaime’s smirk disappears instantly, and his face looks so wounded that she rushes to reassure him. “Hey, it’s no big deal. Nothing I haven’t heard before. Besides, you made it up to me with a knife through your hand.”

He looks up at her, giving her a weak smile before picking his wine back up and taking another sip. “Well, I _am_ sorry. About that, and about how I acted tonight. I was a dick, and you didn’t deserve that.”

She studies his face, open and genuine, far from the tight smirking mask he wears with everyone but her. She swirls the wine around in her cup and takes another swallow. “Thank you. For that, and for the wine. Where did you get this, anyway?”

He chuckles and replies, “The hotel bar. Turns out they’ll let you buy just about anything if you wave a black card around.”

Brienne laughs and takes another drink, the wine tracing a warm path down her throat and into her stomach. She looks at Jaime and feels heat rising from her neck to her cheeks, her pulse fluttering. Her nerves are making her drink faster than normal, but she needs to keep her hands occupied lest she do something stupid with them, like brush that damned hair out of his eyes or pull him toward her by the collar.

She puts her cup down just as Jaime tips his back to swallow the last of the wine, a trickle escaping from the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, she brings her thumb up to his chin to wipe it away before it drips onto his white shirt.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and she freezes with her thumb at the corner of his mouth. Her eyes dart up to meet his, a crackle of electricity emanating from his wide, dark pupils. He lightly encircles her wrist with his fingers and pulls her thumb across his bottom lip, darting his tongue out to lick the drop of wine off the pad. He sucks it into his mouth to the first knuckle, grazing his teeth along it as he slowly pulls it out.

Brienne releases the breath she didn’t realize she was holding with a soft mewling sound. The heat in her belly moves south and settles firmly between her thighs. Without breaking eye contact, Jaime presses a kiss to her palm, then another to her wrist, tongue flicking out as he sucks on the sensitive flesh. Everywhere he touches is on fire. “Jaime…what…” she breathes, surprised she is even able to form two coherent words.

He drops her hand and steps closer, bringing his hands up to the sides of her neck, thumbs brushing along her jawline. His cheek presses against hers, his breath jagged in her ear. Her hands come up to clutch at his shirt while her heart hammers against her ribcage. Their bodies press gently together, each point of contact sparking with electricity.

Jaime’s voice barely registers over the whooshing of her pulse. Her eyes flutter shut and she sways gently. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers, his voice gravelly and rasping. “Tell me to go, and I’ll go.”

Brienne turns her head slightly, lips brushing against the slight scruff on his jaw. All the longing, the frustration, the desire she has felt for Jaime over months comes pouring out in one word, sighed into the corner of his mouth. “Stay.”

Their lips meet, barely a whisper of skin on skin, before closing the miniscule distance remaining between them. Jaime’s hands tangle in her hair, pressing his mouth desperately to hers. She gasps when his tongue slides along her bottom lip, her hands tighten in the fabric of his shirt, a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan escapes from the back of her throat. She tries to stay in the moment, tuning out the running dialogue in her head that repeats _I can’t believe this is happening. Is this really happening? Oh my gods, this is happening. _She opens her mouth to him and his tongue meets hers, sending a jolt of heat through her nerve endings.

While their tongues circle and slide, Jaime’s hands skim from her neck down her back, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. They come to rest between her lower back and her ass, and he presses her body into his. Something hard juts into her hip, and she gasps in shock and pulls away from his mouth to stare wide-eyed at him. 

“Do you believe me now?” His voice is insistent, almost pleading. “Do you believe that I want you?”

The ability to form words has temporarily escaped her, so in lieu of a “yes,” she slides her hands up to tangle her fingers in his hair and push his face toward hers again. She kisses him hungrily, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and dragging her teeth over it as she releases it. He groans and moves his hands down to her ass cheeks, squeezing firmly as he presses his hard cock against her. Her nerves have dissolved, leaving in their wake nothing but hot, pulsating _want_.

She flattens her palms against his chest and pushes him toward the bed, bemoaning the momentary lack of contact until he sits heavily on the foot of the bed. She swings her legs over his lap, straddling him, squeezing his hips between her knees. His hands slide up her thighs and under the hem of her dress, moving agonizingly slowly toward the place yearning for his touch.

“Do you want _me_, Brienne?” he rasps into her neck as his thumbs skim the lace waistband of her panties, barely a whisper of a touch, making her shudder. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, GODS, Jaime!” she growls impatiently, causing a mischievous chuckle to escape from Jaime’s lips. She twists her hands in his hair and pulls his head back to silence him with a voracious kiss. He moves his mouth off hers and trails kisses, bites and licks from her jawline to her collarbone. She arches against him wantonly, any embarrassment she would have felt earlier overcome by the intensity of desire emanating through her body.

Jaime’s breath is hot in her ear as her fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin on hers. He gives the tie at her waist one swift yank, and the slippery fabric of her dress slides down her back and over his knees to pool on the floor. She is completely exposed to him, her black lace panties the only scrap of fabric on her body, and her eyes dart to the lamp on the bedside table. He follows her eyes and senses her inhibition. “No, don’t turn it off. I want to see you.”

Heat blazes from her cheeks down to her chest and she swallows thickly, but doesn’t move to turn off the light or to cover herself. She allows his eyes to roam her body, along her neck and collarbone, down to the slight swell of her breasts, her nipples hardening under his gaze. They sweep along her taut stomach and come to rest at the juncture of her thighs, just barely covered by her panties, which are soaking wet. He licks his lips, and her head swims with arousal.

Jaime drags his eyes up to meet hers, cups her face in his hands and looks at her with something akin to worship. “You are magnificent,” he says, so convincingly that she believes him for a moment.

She smiles at him weakly and shakes her head. “I’m already going to fuck you, Jaime. You don’t need to sweet talk me.”

“It’s not sweet talk. It’s the truth, and I will tell you every day until you believe it.”

Jaime pulls her face in for a passionate kiss, which she reciprocates with everything she has. Her hands move feverishly over the V of chest exposed by his half-unbuttoned shirt.

“Too many clothes,” she gasps out as she turns her attention back to his buttons, trembling fingers struggling to free them from their holes. He takes pity on her and rips his shirt the rest of the way open, buttons scattering across the room. She laughs in surprise before dragging her nails down his broad chest to his hard stomach, feeling rather than hearing the guttural sound emanating from him.

He lays back and pulls her down on top of him, relishing the heat of his chest and the scratch of his hair against her own smooth torso. She covers his mouth with hers and can’t resist grinding down onto his cock, relieving some of the sweet ache between her legs. “Gods, Brienne,” moans loudly before flipping her easily onto her back and settling his weight on top of her.

She caresses up and down his back while he trails licks and bites along her jaw, throat and ear. She rolls her hips up and into him, and he moans again before sitting up to undo his belt. Her desire reaches a fever pitch when he slides his pants below his hips, revealing navy blue boxer briefs with a huge bulge in the front. He really is a gorgeous specimen of a man, all hard muscle and bronzed skin and rugged masculinity.

“Like what you see, wench?” he smirks as he kicks his pants off.

She rolls her eyes and grabs him by the back of the neck to pull him back down. “Cocky bastard,” she breathes into his mouth before wrapping her strong legs high around his waist and pressing their bodies close, delighting in the fact that the hardness between them is for _her_.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted these legs wrapped around me,” he says, eyes dark with lust, hands hungrily stroking from knee to hip.

He slides his hands up her ribcage and palms her breasts, rolling and pinching the sensitive nipples between thumb and forefinger, swallowing her gasp with a thrust of his tongue into her mouth. The pulsing heat between her legs is so intense she thinks she might actually die if he doesn’t touch her there soon.

As if reading her mind, he begins crawling down the bed, trailing kisses, nips and licks down her body. She cries out his name when he sucks a pebbled nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue in circles and grazing it with his teeth. He lavishes attention on the other nipple, then leaves a trail of positively indecent open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, stopping at her waist to look up at her with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Brienne’s blood burns in her veins, heart rattles against her ribcage, arousal drums a steady pulse between her thighs. Jaime hooks his thumbs into the black lace waistband of her panties and pulls them off slowly, planting kisses on her hips, thighs and calves on the way down. He crawls back up toward her and flicks his tongue out onto her inner thigh, then the juncture of her leg and groin. She feels herself dripping with want as his mouth inches closer to her dark blonde curls.

Finally, mercifully, he moves his head between her legs and breathes hot air onto her swollen pink folds. His cheek nuzzles the tender skin of her inner thigh before he flattens his tongue against her entrance and drags it up softly and slowly. She shudders and cries out his name when his tongue circles her clit, lapping up the moisture leaking from her. She arches violently off the bed when he sucks her swollen clit into his mouth, clutching the sheets in her fists.

Her inner walls flutter impatiently, desperate to be stretched and filled by him. It takes every ounce of willpower she has to grab his face and pull it up to make him look at her. Jaime’s head between her thighs, pupils dilated and mouth and chin glistening with her juices is, by far, the biggest turn-on of her life. “Jaime,” she pants out. “I would really like you to continue this later, but right now, I need you inside me.”

He growls a throaty noise and crawls up the bed toward her. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulls them down, his cock springing free. It is thick and rock-hard, and when she grazes her hand over it, he hisses. She wants to know what other reactions she can get out of him, all the ways she can make him feel good. She licks and sucks at his mouth, tasting herself on him, then wraps her long fingers around his shaft, squeezes and gives him a gentle pull. “Fuck, Brienne,” he rasps, pulling her hand away. “I don’t want this to be over before it’s begun. I’m already not going to last long.”

“I don’t care. I need you to fuck me, Jaime.” He moans into her ear and allows her to guide him between her legs.

He pauses with the head of his cock at her entrance, his hands on either side of her head, somehow having the presence of mind to ask her about birth control. “The pill,” she nods, then coats his tip with her wetness, teasing him, making him shiver.

Their eyes lock and he pushes himself inside her slowly, his gaze so intense she feels as if he is looking into her very soul. She fights the urge to squeeze her eyes shut and throw her head back; she needs to see his face as he breathes her name and slides further into her. An unfamiliar sound flies from her throat, part whimper, part sob, half curse and half prayer.

When he is fully seated inside her, she clamps her hands down around his hips, not ready for him to move yet, wondering if he shares this feeling of _whole_ and _complete_ and _home _and_ mine _that is currently radiating through her. Their gazes are still locked, his black pupils nearly engulfing the emerald green of his irises, a vulnerability and openness on his face that she has never seen there before. She slides her hands up the sides of his body and cups his face, pulling him down for a deep, yet tender kiss.

She presses her forehead to his and begins to move, rolling her hips underneath him, which makes them both gasp. Jaime trembles above her, his eyes wild, hair falling over his face, cheeks flushed with arousal. He has never looked more beautiful.

Then he is moving inside her, _Jaime is moving inside her_, sending jolts of pleasure through her body with every thrust. She digs her fingers into his shoulder blades and locks her ankles high around his back. “_Jaime_,” she pleads into his neck, tendrils of heat winding through her and tightening around her limbs.

As much as he talks throughout the day, he may talk even more in bed. He keeps a running commentary of every thought that floats into his head, _you’re so wet _and _have you ever touched yourself and thought about me?_ and _so tight, your cunt is like a vise_ and _I could stay inside you forever_ and _mine, you’re mine_. That last one gives her pause, but any complete thought she might form is pushed aside by the unadulterated, primal ecstasy coursing through her veins.

He lifts one of her legs over his shoulder, driving himself impossibly deeper into her with the change of angle. His cock brushes a spot inside her she did not know existed, and their moans intermingle in the air as her inner walls clench around him. Their hips find a rhythm that makes them both cry out, bodies moving in tandem as easily as they do while sparring or catching a criminal. She feels her body inching toward the precipice and grabs his ass hard to encourage him.

Sparks race up and down her spine, building and building, until the dam holding back the tension breaks in one violent burst. She comes so hard she sees stars behind her squeezed-shut eyelids, muscles spasming and tightening, her fingertips sure to leave bruises on the fleshy mounds of his ass. She bites down on his shoulder to stifle the deafening cry she feels building in her throat. The explosions racking through her body slow to gentle waves, then subside, leaving behind a feeling of spaced-out bliss. Her muscles go slack and the air expels from her lungs.

Jaime gives her a moment to recover before driving into her again. She is so sensitive that his thrusts are almost painful, in the best possible way. “Come inside me, Jaime,” she whispers in his ear, and he groans and begins to move more erratically as he approaches his peak. Feeling him jerk and shudder, hearing him shout her name, watching him lose control and come undone above her is almost more than she can take.

He collapses on top of her with a heavy sigh, then nuzzles into her neck, his breath tickling the extra-sensitive skin. They say nothing for a while as their heart rates slow and breathing returns to normal. She skims her hand up and down his spine while he softens inside her, but makes no move to withdraw himself. “That,” he whispers and presses a soft kiss to her neck, “was even better than I imagined.”

Her hand stills and she lifts her head slightly in surprise. “You’ve imagined?”

Jaime’s head shoots up. He pulls out of her with a soft breath and settles on the bed next to her. “Wench, you can’t possibly be that dense. I’ve had a hard-on for you since the first time I saw you fight. You’ve _felt_ it.”

“I figured that was…an accident.”

“Well, it was in that you weren’t supposed to know, lest you think me a perverted old man.”

She smacks him softly on the shoulder. “You’re not that old.”

He smirks at her, eyes glinting impishly, before flipping them over so that Brienne is on top of him, straddling his hips, looking down into his gleaming green eyes and sly smile. “But you do agree that I’m perverted?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she says as he runs his hands up and down the sides of her body. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Or _do_ anything? I probably would have hate-fucked you that first day.”

He throws his head back against the pillow and laughs, a pleasant, musical sound so unlike her own braying cackle. “I doubt I would still have a cock if I had tried anything with you that first day. I never made a move because you’re much too good for me. You’re young and idealistic and ambitious, and I’m a washed-up former detective with graying hair and a shitty reputation. Even if it has improved immensely since becoming your partner.”

Brienne is still trying to wrap her head around one particular phrase. “Jaime…_I’m_ too good for _you_? Look at me.”

“Believe me, I’ve been looking at you for months. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. A warrior goddess with the most astonishing eyes, and legs I would voluntarily die between.” She blushes furiously, despite the fact that he had just been inside her minutes ago. “Anyone who has told you otherwise deserves to be pushed into a bear pit.”

She ignores the alarming clench in her chest and leans over to take his face in her hands. “You, Jaime Lannister, are a good cop…” She plants a kiss on his forehead. “…A good partner…” Another on his cheek. “…And a good man.” She kisses him like she is dying of thirst and he is a clean, bubbling spring.

Jaime moans in the back of his throat and tightens his grip on her hips, pulling her down onto his rapidly hardening cock. She whimpers and grinds against him, her mind emptying of anything besides the feeling of her skin against his.

* * *

The late-morning sun streams though the hotel curtains as Jaime slides drowsily into Brienne from behind. This is either the sixth time they’ve fucked, or maybe the end of one long fuck with short intermissions. Either way, no more than two hours of the night went by without one of them reaching for the other, creating the most exhausting yet intensely pleasurable experience of her life.

Every time Jaime sought her out in the dark, a few more of the misgivings she’d felt the night before dissolved away. In their place sat a tenuous hope that he might not regret this, that it might not just be one night of half-drunk passion giving way to awkwardness in the morning.

This particular morning is anything but awkward. One of Jaime’s hands cradles the back of Brienne’s neck while the other presses just above where they are joined. Brienne arches her back and drives her hips into him, fingernails digging into his upper thigh. They have learned each other’s bodies so thoroughly over just one night that they both come within minutes of him entering her.

Once their aftershocks subside, Jaime pulls out of Brienne with a sharp inhale and rolls her onto her back, then throws an arm and a leg over her, nuzzling into her shoulder. She shakes the fog out of her mind and takes stock of her physical and mental state. Her inner thighs are sticky, hips are sore, jaw aches slightly from giving the most enthusiastic blowjob of her life. Mentally…she knows they need to talk, but right now, she is too tired and utterly sated to string two words together, let alone the ones she needs to figure out…whatever this is.

She drifts into a light sleep, helped along by Jaime’s fingertips gently brushing up and down her arm, waking only when she feels Jaime’s warmth disappear from her side and hears the sink running in the bathroom. He returns a moment later with a warm, damp washcloth and begins swiping it gently over her chest and stomach, then down between her thighs. The tenderness of the gesture surprises her so completely that she just stares at him, mouth slightly open, as he cleans her off.

He looks up at her and notices her puzzled expression. “What?” he asks, throwing the washcloth toward the bathroom and climbing back into bed beside her.

She shakes her head slightly and smiles. “Nothing. You just…continue to surprise me.”

He smiles back at her, a toothy, blinding grin that causes the remaining vestiges of the carefully-built walls around her heart to crumble into dust.

“In a good way, I hope,” he murmurs as he rolls her onto her side and buries his head under her chin.

Her fingers trace one of the many marks she left on him throughout the night, this one from biting down on his shoulder to stifle a scream. “Sorry about that.”

“I like it,” he hums without looking up. “I hope it scars.”

She chuckles and runs her fingers through his hair, then musters up her courage. “Jaime?”

“Hmm?”

“What happens now?”

He lifts his head to look into her eyes. “Now, I think we should get room service because I’m starving. Pancakes or waffles, something with syrup, so we can lick it off each other.” That impish grin again. “Then we’ll probably need a shower…hopefully we can both fit in there…and then I would like to drive you to my apartment and continue fucking your brains out for the foreseeable future. Unless you have other plans?”

Brienne ignores the flutter in her lower belly at his words and shoots him a look. “You know what I mean. What happens with _this_,” she gestures between them.

“Well, I just told you I’d like to continue fucking your brains out, which is true, but I would also like to do other, non-fucking things with you, if you want. You know, watch movies, go grocery shopping, walk around holding hands like two dumb teenagers.”

Brienne’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline. “Like, boyfriend and girlfriend things?”

He slides his hand up and down the back of her arm. “If that’s what you want to call it. Boyfriend and girlfriend, romantic partners, _llllovers_.” He drags the last word out dramatically and lasciviously.

She smacks him on the shoulder. “Ew. Don’t ever say that again. But…yes, I think I would like that.”

His smile is so bright she nearly has to shield her eyes. Her heart feels as if it might burst in her chest when he gathers her up in his arms and squeezes the wind out of her. They lay there in each other’s arms for a long while, until the grumble of Brienne’s stomach breaks the silence.

She laughs into his chest. “How about those pancakes?”

* * *

_*One year later*_

“Lannister, Tarth, the Lieutenant wants to see you in his office,” Clegane calls to them across the station just before they leave for the evening.

They look at each other out of the corners of their eyes, concern apparent on both their faces. Ever since that first night together at the hotel, they’ve taken care to act extra professional at work. Even though, curiously, none of their colleagues were surprised when they began showing up together in the mornings and leaving together in the evenings, they’ve made sure their behavior is above reproach.

(Their colleagues don’t know that on particularly boring patrol days, they’ve made a game of trading increasingly lewd suggestions of what they want to do to each other when they get home. This usually leads to them literally ripping each other’s clothes off in the doorway of their apartment, not even making it to the couch before he is sunk to the hilt in her.)

They have no reason to think their relationship would be a cause for concern, seeing as how they have collared more criminals than anyone else on the force in the past year, but the worry still festers in the back of Jaime’s mind. He wants her to be known for her abilities, not who she’s fucking.

Mormont looks up from his paperwork as they enter his office.

“I don’t know how or why your partnership works,” the grizzled old man begins, “But it does. You’re the two best cops we have, and you make this force look good. That being said, you both made detective. Now get out of my office.”

Next to Jaime, Brienne sucks in a huge breath, her spine straightening, making her implausibly taller. Her eyes widen to double their original size, and when she turns to him, beaming, the look of pride and elation on her face nearly knocks him over. All he can do is smile back and give her a small nod.

She manages to keep herself together until they reach the parking lot, then immediately flings herself into his arms, jumping up and down and screeching into his neck. He chuckles and pulls her back. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. You should have made detective after a month.”

She smiles disarmingly at him, then hugs him again. “I’m proud of you, you know,” she murmurs into his ear. He’d almost forgotten that he, too, had been given back his detective badge, so engrossed as he is by Brienne’s sheer joy.

“Come on,” she says, breaking the embrace and tugging at his hands. “Let’s go pick up a bottle of champagne. We need to celebrate!”

He watches her practically skip to the car and smiles as he fingers the blue velvet box in his pocket. In it is a one-carat round cut sapphire, exactly the color of her eyes, surrounded by pear-shaped diamonds in a white gold setting. He’s been carrying it around for two months now, waiting for the right time to ask. He would have dragged her to the nearest sept the morning after their first night together, but he knew she would need more time.

Now, feeling her happiness bubble over into him, he can’t physically wait any longer.

Yes. Tonight, they will celebrate.


End file.
